


he was he and i was i

by ForeverChasingDreams



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Coming Out, Fluff, Little bit of angst, M/M, some ot5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 21:57:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1957566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForeverChasingDreams/pseuds/ForeverChasingDreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick and Harry and the slow progression of their relationship.<br/>Or, five times Nick told Harry a random, useless fact and the one time Harry told Nick one instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	he was he and i was i

_‘If you press me to say why I loved him, I can say no more than because he was he and I was I’_

_(Michel de Montaigne)_

 

“Vulcans kiss with their fingers, you know,” Nick says idly, tracing his fingertips along the lifeline on Harry’s palm, curled up warm next to him on the sofa. Harry turns to look at him, his forehead crumpled adorably in a confused expression and his eyes bright.

“Vulcans?” he queries, voice slow and relaxed, and in the background Rachel and Ross kiss like their lives depend on it.

Nick nods. “You know, from Star Trek? The pointy eared lot? Green blood? All logic and no fun, those guys?”

Harry stares at him for a beat, and Nick tilts his head, loving the way Harry’s eyes follow the line of his neck. “Never seen it,” he says eventually, and Nick sighs but doesn’t stop the exploration of Harry’s warm dry skin, the lean length of his fingers and the roughness of his palm, following the blue veins down his wrist and to his elbow, delighting in the fact that he can _touch_ , unashamed. That this is his, now.

“Uncultured twat,” he tells the slender pop star, but his tone is fond and the words echo in the air, still and quiet apart from the low murmur of Friends on the TV. The only light is from a lamp, and shadows fall across Harry’s face like intricate tattoos, and Nick wants to trace the drawings. He does, and Harry leans into his touch with a small smile, tired and gentle and so lovely that Nick can’t bear to think of this ending.

“Who won British Style Award?” Harry protests, his breath warm against Nick’s shoulder as he buries his head into his chest.

“That’s where you’re going wrong,” Nick says with a shake of his head, smiling down at the gangly tall pop star nuzzling into him like a child. At times like this, it’s as if the rest of the world doesn’t exist, just the two of them, no screaming fans or Twitter death threats or slanderous articles. It’s just them, Nick Grimshaw and Harry Styles, watching repeats of Friends and joking about Vulcans.

“What?” Harry asks slowly, quietly, pressing a kiss into Nick’s neck, and Nick remembers he was saying something.

“Culture isn’t just fashion,” he says wisely, trying for a philosophical air but probably making a twat of himself as always. Harry looks up to grin at him, so yeah, maybe didn’t quite get the old age wisdom he was looking for. “Culture is everything, my dear young Harry. Fashion and films and art and- and- music and-”

“Think I’m alright on the music front,” Harry mumbles around a yawn, leaning back against Nick and licking at his neck. Nick heaves a great breath.

“You’re such a child,” he moans, ignoring the fact that he really quite likes the kid Harry, this soft tired Harry who just lets himself _be._

“Old man,” Harry grumbles, blinking his eyes closed. Nick stares down at him fondly, bypassing the slight at his age to delight in the knowledge that this is only for him, this Harry. He doesn’t say anything for a moment too long, and Harry looks at him through his eyelashes, forehead crinkled. “Alright?” he asks softly.

“Alright,” Nick returns just as lightly, bending his head to press a kiss to Harry’s open lips. _Definitely alright._

***

“You know,” Nick begins, twisting his head so that he can look Harry in the eye. “Male bats have the highest rate of homosexuality of any mammal.”

Harry stares at him for a second, and Finchy bursts out laughing. They’re in the studio, a song playing on the radio to give Nick a breathing break. Harry’s reclined on the sofa, pretending he’s invisible when Nick is live but messing around at every chance.

“Do you even know what a mammal is?” Fiona asks, eyebrows raised and laughing.

Nick ignores his two colleagues. Harry opens his mouth, incredulous, then shuts it again. “More than humans?” he asks eventually, thoughtful, and Nick shrugs.

“That’s what you want to know?” Finchy says, still giggling to himself.

“I dunno,” Nick answers, bringing up google on his phone to check. “Can’t be.”

“The level of homosexuality in this room beats a male bat,” Ian mutters, and Grimmy pouts at him.

“I’m very much straight, thank you very much,” Harry says, sticking his tongue out and displaying his true age.

“What am I, a girl?” Nick protests, and Harry the little sod simply smirks.

“The prettiest,” he says, and Nick reaches over to flick him on the forehead.

“You’re the gayest straight man I’ve ever met,” Finchy tells Harry. “I mean, the hair? The hats?”

Harry runs his hand through his curls and Nick doesn’t look at him fondly, he _doesn’t_ , but Fiona is grinning at him anyway.

“You two are sickening,” she says. Nick flicks his middle finger at her.

“We’re amazing,” he corrects, and watches with a light heart as Harry shoots him a smile, a Harry smile, one reserved for Nick and Nick alone.

“The best,” Harry agrees, and Nick thinks _yeah, we are_.

***

“Nick,” comes the low voice from the other end of the phone, and Nick struggles to wake himself up enough to understand what’s happening. It’s some obscene hour of the morning and he’d grabbed his phone from his bedside table without even looking at it.

“Wha-?” he mumbles, blinking his eyes and yawning. “Harry?”

“Nick,” Harry says again, and Nick drags himself into an awake enough state to understand that something is _wrong_ , here. Harry sounds exhausted – not unusual for a pop star on a world tour – but also scared and lonely and very much upset.

“Haz?” he asks softly, sitting up in bed and deliberately not checking the clock, because quite frankly he doesn’t want to know. “What’s wrong?”

“Have you been on Twitter lately?” Harry says, and Nick’s heart clenches, no other word for it, even as he rebels at the clichéd term.

“Define lately,” he tries to joke, grabbing his laptop and pressing the on button with baited breath.

“ _Nick_ ,” comes Harry’s plaintive voice, and he sounds a little like he might be crying so Nick holds back on further teasing and hurriedly logs in.

“I’m just checking now,” he reassures Harry, and gets a broken hum in reply.

 _Oh,_ he thinks a few seconds later. He has a horrible feeling he may be sick. “Oh shit,” is all he can say, and Harry chokes out a laugh at the other end. “Have they got proof?” he checks, because three worldwide trends only mean that Gryles – and it’s such a stupid ship name, where’s the famed inventiveness of 1D fans gone to? – is popular, not that they’ve been properly outed.

“Someone’s got hold of photos of us,” Harry tells him quietly, shortly, and Nick wishes he was in South America so that he can hold him, the twenty-year-old super star with a huge heart and a hurting head. He’s too young and too good to sound this sad.

“What photos?”

“Check The Sun,” Harry retorts, his voice snappish but still sad, and Nick doesn’t take offense. “Of The fucking Mirror, or Sugarscape, or probably even The fucking Times, Nick, they all bloody know.”

Nick presses his head into his knees and tries to breathe. “Oh shit,” he repeats himself, and he doesn’t really blame Harry for the harsh barking laugh that comes down the phone because he’s the eldest here, the one who’s supposed to offer advice and be supportive and loving and he’s failing a little right now. “Fuck.”

“Fuck,” Harry agrees, and there’s silence for a beat.

“What are we going to do?” Nick asks eventually, voice tired and it’s early and this is such a fucking mess. He has no idea what possessed him to date a closeted teenage pop star with quirky curly hair and stupid fashion sense and a beautiful laugh in the first place – except that’s a lie, he knows full well.

“I don’t know,” Harry says. There’s rustling on the other end, Harry moving around, and Nick wonders for the first time what time it is there. He doesn’t even know for sure what country he’s in, although he knows Harry plugged all the dates into his phone’s calendar before he flew out.

“You alright?” Nick murmurs then, and there’s a sigh from the other end, long and drawn out and weary, but Harry’s voice, when it comes, is lighter than it has been.

“Not really, but . . . It’s not as if we were never going to come out, is it?”

Nick nods, then remembers Harry can’t see him. “That what this is, then? We going public?”

“If that’s alright with you,” Harry says, and there’s a note of uncertainty there that Nick wants to remove immediately, because Harry never has to be worried about this, about them, never again. Nick loves him more than is healthy, definitely, and he doesn’t know how to change and doesn’t want to.

“Course it is,” Nick replies quickly, honestly, and wishes he was there to show Harry exactly how much he adores the idiot of a pop star.

“I’ll call you when I’ve spoken to my publicist,” Harry tells him. “And, like, you should speak with yours, too. This is gonna be . . . shitty.”

“Might not be,” Nick says helplessly, the optimistic words not suiting him, the eternal realist, but needing to take the note of exhaustion out of his boyfriend’s voice.

“Yeah,” is all Harry says to that, and silence reigns again. It feels a little like Nick is losing him, miles upon miles of distance meaning nothing compared to the quiet at the end of the phone.

“There are more people alive now than have ever died,” Nick informs him quietly, hopefully, waiting for the laugh or the disbelief or anything, really, but the absence of words and the heavy weariness that Harry manages to emanate down the phone.

True enough, Harry barks a low laugh. “And yet I still managed to get stuck with you,” he jokes, and the tiredness hasn’t gone, exactly, but it’s lighter now, the sun starting to rise outside Nick’s window and the alarm on his clock erupting into shrill wails.

“I’m like a limpet,” Nick returns cheerfully, shutting off the alarm and pushing the duvet away. “Can’t get rid of me.”

“Never want to,” Harry says softly, quietly enough that Nick doesn’t know if he’s supposed to hear or not, but he can’t help the small smile that dawns across his face.

“Sap,” Nick teases gently, and hears noises from the other end of the phone, chatter and doors opening and the squeaking of bed springs. “Lads there?” he asks, and hopes he’s right because Harry needs his family right now, they both do, and his bandmates are his brothers in all but blood.

“Yeah,” Harry answers him distractedly, and there’s rustling until Tomlinson’s voice comes through.

“Alright, Grimmy?” he says loudly. “We’ve got Hazza now, promise.”

They don’t quite get on, him and Louis, too similar and pig headed and self-aware enough to recognise their own faults in each other, but there’s no hatred there, either.

“You’d better,” he threatens lightly, and hears a yell down the phone, Niall.

“Love ya, Grimmers!”

And figures that Harry will be alright, now.

***

“Just get into the car as fast as you can,” Harry’s bodyguard – Nick forgets the name – tells them shortly as they prepare to leave the restaurant. “No photos, no signing, nothing.”

Harry pouts a little next to Nick, and he rolls his eyes. “Sooner we get in the car, sooner we’re home,” Nick reminds him quietly, his breath tickling Harry’s ear. Harry twists around to grin at him, eyes fever bright and green, hair curled gently on top of his head. Grimmy has never been more attracted, never loved anyone more than he loves this stupid little pop star with shit loads of baggage and paparazzi following them around.

“What’s at home, then?” Harry teases, his voice low. He rests a hand on Nick’s chest, pink lips so enticing that Nick really wants to just lean forward and take them for his own, stop anyone else ever looking at Harry because no one could possibly appreciate him as much as Nick does.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Nick returns, letting a hand trail down the side of Harry’s hips. The younger man’s pupils are blown wide.

Nick takes a step back just as the bodyguard looks like he might interfere. “Reckon we’ve got some champagne,” he says with a grin, and Harry barks out a laugh.

“Can’t wait for that,” he says, but the hunger in his eyes tells Nick that alcohol is the last thing on his mind right now. “Let’s go.”

“Stick close and go-”

“Straight for the car,” Nick finishes for the bodyguard. “We know.”

“Don’t be rude,” Harry admonishes, and Nick huffs out an apology to the smiling older man.

They leave the restaurant to the blinding flashes of paps and the calls of the few girls milling around and hoping for pictures.

“Good meal?” one of the paps asks, and Harry stops for a second while Nick waits impatiently next to him.

“Yeah, thanks,” Harry says with a smile. “You eaten yet tonight, Greg?”

“Harry,” Nick murmurs impatiently in his ear, aware of the bodyguard trying to usher them along and the continued flashing of the cameras.

 “Course I have,” the pap replies warmly. “Go home, have a nice night.”

“You too,” Harry wishes him, giving in to Nick’s tugging.

“Harry, come talk to me!” another pap yells across. Someone else wolf-whistles when Harry and Nick walk to the car arm-in-arm.

“How does it feel to have your relationship known?” comes another voice, and Nick sees that even Harry is becoming a bit overwhelmed by the noise. The girls start pushing closer, screams increasing as the two of them approach. Nick’s grateful for the bodyguard shielding them.

“Don’t stop again,” the man orders under his breath.

“Sorry,” Harry says, but Nick knows him well enough to understand that he really doesn’t mean that. Harry doesn’t know how not to be polite and kind and lovely. It’s one of his best features – but God knows it’s a right pain at times.

They make it into the car eventually. Paps flash their cameras through the windows and Nick can’t help but shield his eyes, seeing Harry do it as well next to him.

“Can we drive?” Nick snaps to the driver, but the guy shakes his head.

“They’re in front of the car,” he answers, rolling down the window. “Can you move?” he yells out. “I don’t want to run anyone over.”

“Jesus Christ,” Nick murmurs. Harry reaches across and smiles wanly at him as he grabs his hand.

“Sorry,” he says quietly. Nick squeezes his hand.

“Not your fault,” he tells him as the car starts to edge forward, so incredibly slowly. The driver is still yelling at the paps, and people still keep taking photos through the windows.

“Sort of is,” Harry replies with a self-deprecating shrug.

Nick doesn’t really know what to say. Nothing he can tell Harry now will ease his guilt. So he changes the subject.

“People used to believe,” he says softly, “that the ring finger contained the _vena amoris_ , or the vein of love.” He traces the length of Harry’s fingers, runs his hands from his ring finger all the way up his arm and to his chest, placing his hand flat against the beating of his heart. “They believed it ran from the finger straight to the heart.”

Harry watches him, expression fond and gentle and so much calmer than before. “Is this your way of proposing to me?” he asks eventually, tone amused. “Because I pictured it as slightly more romantic than the back of a car.”

Nick grins, caught off guard. “You a flowers and candlelit dinner kind of guy, Styles?”

“I think,” Harry says slowly, thoughtfully, letting a smile take over his face, “that I’m a romant- _nick_ kind of guy.”

Nick laughs, throws his head back and sees Harry copy. “That, Popstar,” he tells him, “was awful.”

Harry grins at him, tone certain and strong. “You love it,” he says.

Yeah, Nick sort of does.

***

Harry smiles widely up at him, pupils blown wide with lust and hair dampened with sweat and lying flat against his forehead. His lips are a shocking red, swollen, and he looks so incredibly gorgeous just hovering above Nick’s cock.

“Stop teasing,” Nick groans, throwing his head back. Harry leans forward again, takes an experimental lick at the head, and giggles – actually _giggles_ – when Nick sucks in a breath. “You’re a little monster,” he pants as Harry finally wraps his mouth fully around him.

Harry slides one hand around the base and the other pressed firm on Nick’s hip, skin soft and warm and strength apparent in every move he makes. Nick’s so incredibly turned on, and it’s not even fair because what sane human wouldn’t be, with Harry Styles giving him a blowjob.

He feels a little guilty for that, afterwards, because he tries not to make Harry into something he’s not, tries not to confuse his Harry with the Harry from One Direction, knows that Harry hates to be thought of as _famous_ before, say, kind or gorgeous or gentle.

But all he can concentrate on momentarily is the warmth of Harry’s mouth and the heat of his tongue and the pleasure that’s engulfing his whole body and the thought circling his head: _mine, mine, this is all mine._

Harry pulls off with a slick sound when Nick eventually gives in and comes and looks a mix of satisfied and smug. “So easy,” he says, voice a little rough, but it’s okay because they’ve got days, weeks, before Harry’s next on tour and it’s beautiful.

“Only for you,” Nick tells him honestly, drawing him in for a weird-tasting kiss. He pulls a face. “Gross,” he comments.

Harry sticks his tongue out. “I’m not moving to wash my mouth out,” he declares, slumping half on Nick’s body and half on top of the duvet.

“You have more bacteria in your mouth than there are humans on this planet,” Nick informs him, semi-seriously. Harry huffs, burying his face further into Nick’s chest and shuts his eyes.

“And a hell-a lot more now I’ve had your dick in there,” he says pointedly. “You want me not to next time?”

“What, no!” Nick protests with a laugh. “I want you to clean your teeth, unsanitary little pop star.”

“You’ll have to carry me then,” Harry challenges, sleepily opening his eyes again to glare at Nick. He wriggles his body into Nick’s chest, prompting him to wrap his arms around without words. Nick sort of loves this, when it’s quiet and just them and the fact that they’re so used to this now that Harry doesn’t even need to ask to be cuddled anymore. Nick looks down at him, his black hair still a little sweaty and curly, his eyes closed and eyelashes resting gently just above his cheekbones. He has a bit of a pick flush and his lips are still swollen and gorgeous.

The bacteria can wait a little, he guesses.

***

\+ 1

“So it’s been, like, a hundred years or so,” Louis begins, grinning with slightly glazed eyes and a glass in his hand, “but they’re still as stupidly together as always.”

“Tommo, mate, stick with the facts,” Liam calls out loudly, laughing.

“They still sext way too much for any of our health,” Louis continues, and Niall calls out a “hear, hear!”

“And I really wish they’d get over this stupid honeymoon phase because I could do without hearing Harry describe your bloody eyes, Grimshaw.”

“I don’t,” Harry protests, standing next to Nick with a hand on his waist. Nick raises his eyebrows at him, a smirk on his face.

“Sure about that, Popstar?” he says. “I have lovely eyes.”

“You do,” Harry agrees. “But, no! Seriously.”

“But anyway,” Louis carries on in the background, “they’re great together. Harry’s happy and sickeningly in love and we all hope they carry on this way for another century. Or Liam told me I should say that anyway.”

“Beautiful speech, bro,” Zayn says sarcastically as people around the room clap semi-politely. Some are outright laughing. Nick looks fondly at Harry’s little family, letting Harry pull away from him to go and hug Louis, laughing as the other lads all join in. Gemma’s taking a picture; he can see her from across the room where she’s standing with the Teasdales.

“Having fun?” Aimee asks, sidling up next to him with a bright red ferocious cocktail in her hands. She’s a little tipsy already, and the party has only been going on for an hour or so.

“It’s great,” he says, but his eyes are still tracking Harry and Aimee can tell.

“Tear your eyes away from lover boy when you listen to my speech, yeah?” Aimee says wryly, sipping at her drink and offering it to Nick.

“What speech?” Nick asks in alarm. “I haven’t vetted this.”

“It’s your hen night, sweetie,” Aimee says, ignoring his swift correction to “stag night”. “And I’m your best friend. Of course I have a speech.”

“No, Aims,” he complains insincerely. “You can’t do this to me.”

“Watch me,” she says, and makes her way to the front of the room. “Listen up people! It’s my turn now.”

Nick groans and contemplates leaving the room, but Harry is making a beeline for him and he reckons it might not go down well with his husband-to-be if he runs away from him a week before the wedding.

“This is going to be great,” Harry says as soon as he reaches him. Aimee has just managed to get everyone to listen.

“It’s going to be embarrassing,” Nick corrects with a slight pout that Harry immediately kisses off.

“Don’t be sulky,” he admonishes cheerfully. “Listen to Aimee’s speech.”

“I’ve known Grimmy for longer than either of us want to admit,” Aimee is saying, and Nick grumbles under his breath about irritating pop stars and traitorous friends.

“He’s the funniest, most genuine person I know, and he’s been looking for someone to share himself with for years,” she continues. “Then he met this curly haired seventeen year old pop star with a stupid cheeky grin,” she waves over at Harry who sticks his tongue out, “and neither of them have ever looked back.

“They’re that couple that you just now will stick together through everything,” she says. Harry grips Nick’s hand and squeezes. “And they have. They hid for years until they were outed against their will and I don’t know if anyone else could have handled it as gracefully and successfully as they did. They are,” she pauses, taking a sip of her cocktail, “the new power couple of London and, more than that, they’re the best friends a girl could ask for and the best couple in the world.”

Harry blows her a kiss. Nick isn’t crying, he’s not, he’s just a little bit allergic to the soap he used in the bathroom, that’s all. Harry smiles at him, his own eyes a little teary, and Nick can’t help but reach forward to kiss him, an act he’s done a million times by now but one that will never, ever get old.

“To Nick and Harry,” Aimee concludes, raising her glass. The room echoes her sentiment and cheering erupts. Nick kisses Harry again, firmer this time, and feels Harry smile through the kiss.

“My turn,” Gemma announces loudly from the front, drawing attention away from Nick and Harry again.

Niall wolf whistles from somewhere. “Go Gems,” he calls.

“I can’t compete with that lovely speech,” she says. “All I can say is that Harry’s my little brother who I swore to always protect. It’s been hard doing that when he flies around the world and I barely get to see him.” She cocks her head, smiles at Harry. “But I know that I can leave him in good hands now, Grimmy. I trust you with him, and that’s the biggest compliment I can give.”

There’s a foundering of applause and Nick yells out, “love you too Gemma!” as chattering begins to break up the quiet atmosphere. Nick turns to see Harry just looking at him, a soft smile on his face. He’s beautiful.

Nick loves him more than he ever thought he was capable of.

“You know,” Harry begins quietly, interlacing their fingers completely. “People used to believe that humans originally had four arms and four legs. But they grew too strong and when they challenged the gods, Zeus tore them all down the middle.” He steps closer to Nick. “So now people are only half a person, constantly searching for their other perfect half.” He pauses, presses a kiss to Nick’s lips, and smiles. “I’m glad I found you.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Meh, sickening, I know. I blame that horrible soul-sucking 'happy ship' tag on Tumblr that converted me one hundred per cent to Gryles. Because my previous Gryles had been angst-ridden and ridiculous but all the photos I ever see of Gryles show smiles and so I thought, I need to write something to reflect this.  
> So this was born.  
> Please leave a comment/kudos. Both are very much appreciated.


End file.
